In the late 70s, my family lived a few miles outside of Brattleboro, Vermont, and on weekends, we would venture into town where I’d spend the afternoon browsing through a cozy, little, brick bookshop on Elliot Street just off of Main. I was a preteen and my reading consisted mostly of fantasy and science fiction novels. I remember sitting crosslegged on the carpet in the genre nook, studying book after book, deciding which I would buy with my lawn-mowing money. The pile included Tolkien, of course, those Ballantine paperback editions that featured idyllic cover art by the author, Conan books with the grim Frazetta covers of mighty thews, steel blades, and brutal violence, and Doctor Who novelizations with their motley crew of fantastic villains—Daleks, Cybermen, Zygons—that the curly-haired hero readily dispatched. I’d select one, maybe two if the neighborhood grass had been especially persistent, and bring them home to read late into the night. Then I’d wait, the days passing with intolerable slowness, for the next trip into town.
Awesome, so fun, so nostalgic, so real. Keep it up kk
I really loved this story! I could almost smell the dust off old books in the bookstore. Fun read!